


Save

by yeaka



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fix-It, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Diana returns to Themyscira to find gifts still to be had.





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**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning that I know nothing of Wonder Woman beyond the 2017 film, just wanted to do a little thing saving Chris, however silly. This involves spoilers for the end of the film. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Wonder Woman or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as her boat’s through the barrier, her heart lifts with the clearing skies. A part of her feared it would be different now, the termination of Ares no longer requiring their protection, but Themyscira is as gorgeous as it always was. The grey fog is left behind, nothing forward but brilliant greens and blues and pearl whites. Diana breathes it in with a trill of happiness, turning her face towards the heavens. 

But when she opens them again, she’s drifted farther towards the shore, and she sees the sandy beach she left not long ago. She remembers marching up the water-washed stones, dragging a thick weight with her, out into the open air, for only a moment’s piece before the other _men_ came.

And thinking of _Steve_ , of his heat in her arms, his flushed skin against hers, the dazzling blue of his eyes, makes her heart ache again. Her hand moves instinctively to the watch wrapped around her belt. And then she sucks in a breath and withdraws again. She’s _home_ , and this is no time for sorrow. 

Nonetheless, it’s a hard road to the shore. Steve is _everywhere_ with her, in these memories, his voice still in her mind on the whisper of the wind, even the boat: the one they left in together, that Etta secured and returned to her. By the time it’s close enough to climb out of, she can hear the horses coming. It helps her rise again, the water lapping at her boots, and before she’s made it another step, Venelia is rushing down to take it. Others join, but Diana only has eyes for one: her mother dismounts, walking forward.

Diana all but runs. If it were any greater distance, she’d speed into a blur. She jogs out of the water, up the little stones, through the damp sand, and right into her mother’s arms, already open for her. Diana flies between them. She tucks her head over her mother’s shoulder, tickled by the fur of her mother’s shall, and wraps her arms tight around her mother’s middle. She’s given a little squeeze in return, the back of her hair petted and a kiss placed against her cheek. Her mother murmurs in her ear, “Welcome home, Diana.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing else. The outside world has changed her, but she never stopped missing _this_ , loving it so intrinsically, the island itself and every woman that now stands along the shore, and all those still in the city. Even the horses. Diana drinks it in: the smell of it, the sounds of it, the feeling of being safe in her mother’s arms. Her mother’s the first to detangle them. 

“I am so proud of you,” her mother tells her; music to her ears, better even than Charlie’s songs—but she doesn’t want to think of that again. She’d meant to make it clear that she can’t stay, this is only a visit in answer to her mother’s letter, but now, in the presence of her family, she finds she doesn’t have the words.

She’ll at least stay a _little_ while. And pray that Men manage for at least a short time without her.

She answers instead, “Is it true?” Her breath catches just thinking of it— _Zeus_ is gone, but his powers, it seems, aren’t. She could scarcely believe the words the dove brought her. “That my sword has been reborn here?”

“Yes,” her mother says, almost with a little laugh, at least a large smile. “You know what you are now, and a demi-god’s tools are not idly destroyed. With us, some powers of the gods still live.”

It’s good to know. Her fists and lasso proved well enough, but none of the mortal swords to be bought in London did her old one justice, even if it never was a Godkiller. Then she thinks to ask, “Tools? Are there others?”

With that same knowing smile, her mother promises, “Come, you’ll see.” Without needing a command, Menalippe slips silently form her horse, moving to join Venelia with the boat. So entranced in her mother’s promise, Diana leaves them to it, taking the horse with a quick nod of thanks.

The ride into the city is swift, more so than she means it to, but now that she’s experienced _time_ outside the island, she finds it harder to hold. It’s good to feel the long mane of her mount beneath her fingers, to feel the wind in her hair. She rides beside her mother, savouring every second, no matter how quickly it’s gone, until they’re out of grass and onto stone, a louder click-clack underfoot. Every woman they pass turns to look at her, lighting up in delight, and some wave, some cry out, and she greets them all with waves and laughter and joyous words. She means to visit them all properly when she can. But her mother leads her steadily through, on towards the tower, the one she stole from in the night. Now that she’s seen such _destruction_ , she feels vaguely guilty for what she did to the walls. 

By the time her mother’s dismounting before the tower, they haven’t said a word, but Diana’s too breathless for it all right now, and her mother tells her thoughtfully, “I would bid you sit, eat and drink first, but I think you would only pester me for this.”

“I would,” Diana laughs, “there’ll be plenty of time for all that later.”

Her mother nods, and as she ascends the steps, Diana fast behind her, the guards pull the doors seamlessly aside. They march through, as they did when Diana was little, and truly thought the Godkiller as not a possession of the true power, but all the power itself. It might’ve been easier, perhaps, if she knew the truth from the beginning. But she also wouldn’t trade any of the valuable lessons she learned on her own. 

A part of her expects to see arrows scattered about the courtyard, maybe the spear she fought with as a child—all tools that, ultimately, got her to her final battle. But as soon as she’s out of the shadows of the hall, into the open sunlight with the elaborate casing for the sword, she notices the other occupant. 

She turns, drawn by a faint whistling tune, to see a man sitting on the earth, a book open in his lap. She doesn’t get a chance to see what it is.

She breathes, “ _Steve_ ,” like a reverent, long suffered prayer.

He lifts his handsome head, and his eyes crinkle with his soft grin. He looks _beautiful_ in the blearing light, his hair longer and his clothes the same ragged one she lost him in, but his body beneath it fresh and unblemished. He closes the book and sets it down beside him.

Before he’s even on his feet, she’s reached him, diving into him, needing to _feel_ him in her arms, strong and sturdy: _real_. He lets out a little gasp at how fiercely she holds him, and she has to loosen, though she doesn’t let go, doesn’t want to ever, just clings to him tight and presses her face against his, luxuriating in his warmth, his beating pulse, the exotic scent of him. He murmurs, “ _Diana_ ,” into her hair.

She could cry. She thinks she might, but is perhaps too stunned to do anything; all she can do is stand there and embrace him. She doesn’t even ask how—this is the gift Zeus’ powers have left for her, surely, her reward and inspiration for whatever else is to come, so much better than any sword. She would’ve given it and anything else she has for this. 

“I missed you,” he tells her, his voice a little raw and scratchy in that odd accent she’s grown used to—she wonders if _he’s_ crying. “And I heard what you did. You were amazing...”

“What _we_ did,” She insists, just like in Veld; his part was just as valuable. She mumbles, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“None of that,” he chuckles, and he tries to part them, though Diana’s hands just slide down his arms to intertwine with his fingers, still keeping them close. “I’ll listen this time. ...Especially if you can explain how the hell I’m here.”

“You are _mine_ it seems,” she answers, holding back a laugh for his sake. But he just smiles good-naturedly, and she tries to explain, “A demi-god’s things cannot be destroyed.”

Steve lifts his brows and sighs, “I’d be lying to say I understand, but after everything I’ve seen, I know better than to discount you. I guess I’m yours.” And he couldn’t look happier to be it. She’s so happy she can’t think.

She can’t move. She can’t do anything, just holds him again, holds him tight, knowing she’ll keep him now for as long as they _both_ live.


End file.
